


You Will Know Us By the Trail of the Dead

by Wonderdyke



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Animalisitc Kink, BDSM, Bdsm etiquette, Blood and Violence, Daddy Kink, Flogging, Heavy BDSM, Impact Play, James Lives, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, No Major Character Death, Praise Kink, Romanticised BDSM Behaviour, pain play, primal kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderdyke/pseuds/Wonderdyke
Summary: In which Percival is a Dominant without a submissive.  Lancelot is a submissive without a Dominant and when the two meet they get on like a house of fire, may God have mercy on the world. AKA the story of how Merlin lost what little was left of his hair.





	1. Unmake Me

The day Percival became a Kingsman was one of the best days of his life, his normally stoic demeanour cracking open in a smile that he could not banish, leave it to Merlin to accomplish it.

The quartermaster dropped a hefty stack of paperwork onto the desk in front of him, new desk in his new office, startling him from his happy thoughts.

“What’s that?” he asked, still a little intimidated by the Dominant though, as an agent, Percival was now under the auspices of the ageing Arthur.  Percival, unlike many agents, had shed his former life in the few hours since becoming an agent. There wasn’t anything left back there that he wanted and Merlin, hell, all of the Kingsman had been accommodating in using his title as his name.

Who he’d been, he was no longer.

“Intake paperwork,” the old Scot said, moving to the wall of crystal decanters and pouring himself two fingers.

Percy flipped open the first folder, eyes skimming over a standard dynamic compatibility form.  “Are you planning on marrying me off?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Merlin sighed wearily as he dropped into the seat across from him.  It seemed training agents took it out of the Scot for all that he was a young man.  “Nae but we have an uncollared submissive in the ranks of Kingsman, he sees a professional but it is not…  _ ideal _ ,” Merlin said, sucking his teeth on the final word.  “He may become a liability in the field. If ye are compatible then it will be put to you both to see if ye can form a bond.”

Percival wanted to hiss,  _ ‘Are you mad?’ _ at the man.  For all he respected submissives - because he did, they were incredible warriors in the field and fierce protectors at home - putting an uncollared submissive under the kind of daily strain he’d only began to glimpse as an agent  _ was madness _ .  Even with the help of a dynamic counsellor, it wasn’t the same as having a safe space where a Dom could take care of them.

A surge of protectiveness filled the space behind Percival’s ribs for the sub he knew  _ nothing _ about.  He wasn’t surprised, he’d always been possessive… even the mention of having a sub was enough to curl a demanding sort of instinct in him.  Which was a problem.

What Merlin was talking about was a field bond, just above friendship and something the military had used ever since allowing submissives to serve.  Percival, in his time in the SAS, had never been approved for one because of his need for control and for his intense requirements as a Dominant.

He had seen a dynamic counsellor for many, many years after his last sub had left him for being ‘too intense’.  As a Dom, with his less extreme hormonal fluxes, it served well enough but for a sub, it had to be untenable.

“There’s plenty of Doms in the Kingsman, why doesn’t he have one?” Percival asked, deflecting neatly from himself.

“Compatibility issues,” Merlin said flatly.  Percival suspected he’d get little beyond that unless he matched with the man… which he wouldn’t, he never had.  “Truthfully,” Merlin continued, surprising him, “he is nae compatible with the counsellor but they are trained to deal with dynamic dissonance.”

_ Dynamic dissonance _ , a polite way of saying ‘your kinks don’t match mine and it is making me sick’.  Percival had dealt with that from every sub he’d ever had. It wasn’t just the physical acts that were incompatible, research had shown that different kinds of Dominants and submissives were fueled by different combinations of hormones and being with an incompatible one either personally or for dynamics counselling - though that was less harmful - could cause imbalances.

He felt something for the submissive who was probably hurting for a Dom before and sick from seeing one after each counselling session.

“Is it Galahad?” he asked because agent Galahad was the only submissive he’d seen in Kingsman though he rather thought he was Merlin’s.

The quartermaster’s warning growl confirmed it.  “Galahad is collared.”

“And yours?”

Merlin gave a sharp confirming nod.

“So who is it?”

The Scot looked pointedly at the papers between them.  “Take the test and maybe ye will see.”

Percival sighed, picking up his fountain pen.  “Alright, but may I have some privacy?”

“Of course.”

He didn’t watch as Merlin finished his scotch and left, already looking at the familiar form.  He hadn’t done one in years, hadn’t put himself out there for that sort of rejection… even the impersonal rejection of bureaucracy.  It still hurt, as he marked the first question, knowing that they’d come back in a week or two with a polite rejection. That would have made it nearly two dozen of such.  Percival was foolishly optimistic as well as being fundamentally ‘too Dominant’.

On the scale, he was a ten, much like Merlin himself, but that meant nothing aside from the  _ force _ of his Dominance.  Since puberty, he’d had to learn how to control it, how not to force subs and switches and even some other Dominants to their knees just by being near them.  Top it off his dynamic compatibility was so low that he could and  _ had _ caused dynamic dissonance in whole rooms full of people and the resulting backlash of that many hormonal rejections had made Percival vomit, quite literally, into the nearest planter.

It took him years to leash it but the subsequent result was Percival’s iron-willed control over everything, including himself.

Of course, he’d been tested, like every other child coming into their dynamic.  His first results had been so unusual the doctors had thrown it out as a fluke of puberty’s unstable hormonal changes and told him to come back in two years.  He had. The secondary results had been worse.

He was an extreme sadist physically but an extreme nurturer emotionally.  A strange blend of two different kinds of Dominance styles that it had been recommended to him that he try to find two submissives.  He’d tried that but only gotten two people’s worth of hormonal dissonance.

Percival wanted too many things that just weren’t compatible.  He wanted to cause pain, to take his masochist to the limits of their tolerance and watch them fly but he also wanted domesticity, a kind of reciprocal caregiving.  He wanted a partner, a submissive that would stand up to him if he was being an arse but give up complete control and trust. It was a tall order, too tall.

He’d tried to make concessions, tried to find someone  _ mostly _ right for him.  It had never been enough.

‘Do you like causing pain?’ the test asked, mocking him.

Yes.

‘On a scale of one to ten, ten being permanent bodily injury how much pain do you like to cause?’

Most people were a six or seven if they were sadists.  He checked nine. No point in lying, he’d just end up with another sub that couldn’t handle him and didn’t want him.

~***~

“Down,” the Dominant, Michael, commanded.

Even on his knees, bound tightly and blindfolded James couldn’t let go of the leash of his control, couldn’t submit.

“Down, Lancelot.”

He growled, earning him a strike from the cane.  It wasn’t enough. Even as the pain lanced up his body, joining the hum of bruises from his latest mission, he was gagging for more.  “More,” he grunted, demanding.

Michael tugged his hair, too gentle… not enough.  “You aren’t in control here.”

Yes, he was, that was the reason he was angry.

For a while, for the longest while, Michael had been enough.  The counsellor wasn’t an extreme sadist but he was an extreme nurturer and had pretended at the former well enough.  But, like a dying man in the desert one drop of relief had only fueled James’ desire for more… more pain… more hurt.  When Michael couldn’t give it he did what he had always done, let the evils of the world do it to him.

He’d let himself get captured, albeit temporarily, let the goons beat him until his ribs were cracked and his body and sung with relief.  Then he’d freed himself and killed them.

‘Course killing them men who’d inadvertently had him skimming subspace for the first time in  _ months _ caused a drop.  He was still dropping, still hurting in his  _ soul _ .

Merlin was a good Dom, had taken one look in his eyes and seen it.  Had sent him to his counsellor.

Michael was making it worse.

“Red,” he gasped.

Michael’s reaction was instinctive, dropping the cane and cupping his face.  “You are still dropping,” he said with a tinge of worry.

“Just hold me,” James pleaded, knowing it wouldn’t help but needing to comfort the clearly upset Dom.  Everywhere Michael touched his body vibrated with a clash of relief and revulsion, his partial compatibility confusing against James’ skin.

Michael did, stayed with him for three days while he passed through his drop with sheer determination and zero relief.  “No one should have to live like this,” Michael murmured against his sweat-soaked forehead one night as the imbalance in his hormones made his body ache and shudder.

James didn’t answer.

Michael may have been horrified by what James put his body through but it was all too normal for him.  He’d been in a state of dynamic sickness for years, more or less. He tried to make it less but too often it was veering toward more.  

He knew Merlin was considering pulling him from active duty because of it.

Had James had a partner on his last mission he may have gotten the man killed.

He was a liability, they both knew it, but Merlin was a slave to his dynamic as much as James.  Merlin knew it helped, getting out, getting beaten and let it happen because he couldn’t stand to see James suffer as a sub. If they were even the least bit compatible, Merlin might have collared him just to ground him.  But, as they weren’t, Merlin’s collar would feel like slavery.

At the end of the drop, when his body found its equilibrium on its own and James felt like he’d survived the plague, Michael said, “You should find a new Dom.”

He knew it was coming.  They all left him in the end, no matter how he tried to be  _ good _ .

When the counsellor departed, James dropped again.

~***~

Percival stumbled off the eighteen-hour flight back from the arse end of the world and into the hanger at headquarters.  He wanted a shower, a nap and to put a sub on their knees not necessarily in that order, though the Kingsman provided counsellor he’d been seeing - Morven - would probably appreciate at least the first one.

What he didn’t want was for Merlin to be waiting for him on the tarmac or to see Galahad kneeling at his side on a cushion.  Clearly, they’d been there for a while. He could feel the tension rolling off both of them, feeding into each other even as Merlin carded his fingers through his subs hair, mussing then smoothing then mussing again.

Before he descended the steps, Percival leashed his dynamic.  Galahad was a low scale sub and collared, he didn’t need to send the man into dissonance by challenging Merlin’s claim.  He steadied himself to face the quartermaster as well, being both powerful alpha Doms was hard, the two constantly battling for hierarchy when they were together.  Merlin outranked him so he relinquished control but it wasn’t a pleasant sensation to do so, his entire body screaming at him to challenge the Scot.

If he had a collared submissive such impulses could have been mitigated by controlling his boy in lieu of the world around him.  As it was, Percival just swallowed the need like he always did.

“Come with me,” Merlin ordered as soon as he was close enough to hear the man over the plane’s cooling engines.

Percival fell in step, not surprised when Galahad rose and followed at his master’s heels.

“Ye are compatible,” the Dom said without preamble, handing him a slim folder.  

Percival flipped it open, his exhausted brain not immediately remembering the conversation from weeks before.  It was a two-page dynamics compatibility report, the first from their questionnaires, the second from their bloodwork.

They were anonymised, his spot labelling him only as ‘Dominant’ and the other as ‘submissive’.  Questionnaire affinity: 98%.

Percival froze, hands trembling as he switched to the second page.

Bloodwork compatibility: 98%.

It may have well said one hundred percent since two to three percent was the margin of error on the test.

“It’s not possible,” he muttered, flipping back to the first page.

His eyes scanned down to the section labelled,  ‘submissive results’.

99% comfort submissive

99% extreme masochist

97% slave

97% domestic slave

94% rope slave

92% boy, age play

86% degradee

82% primal (prey)

Dynamic scale score: 0

God, a zero.  A fucking unicorn submissive and they were compatible.  It wasn’t possible, there had to be a mistake.

“Breathe,” an unfamiliar cultured voice murmured in his ear.  Distantly, he realised it was the first time Galahad had actually spoken to him.

He hauled in a lungful before saying, “The test is wrong.  Do it again.”

“We did,” Galahad answered, maybe he sensed or saw Percival’s shock and knew anything from Merlin might set him off, “six times.  The test isn’t wrong.”

“Where are they?” he croaked.  ‘They’ because, for all he liked men if it was a woman… he’d cope.

“Follow me,” Merlin said, continuing the way they’d been going.

“Now?” he managed past the lump of nerves.  “You are taking me to them now? At least let me shower.”

“Nae,” Merlin said firmly, “he’s been dropping for over a week.  His counsellor can no longer see him because of the dissonance.”

“If he’s dropping…” Percival’s feet slowed to a stop again.  He ignored Merlin’s frustrated huff. “He can’t consent in a drop, can’t negotiate.”

“Aye,” Merlin said, eyes a bit hollow.  “But his blood work is getting worse. The strain is… poisoning him.”

“What?”

“He could die.”

_ “What?” _ he hissed, feet moving double time as Merlin struggled to stay ahead.  “How did you let it get so bad?”

The Dom winced, not meeting his eyes.

“He did his best,” Galahad defended from behind them.  “You, of all people, understand the difficulty in maintaining a rare dynamic.”

Yes, he did, he was just angry and… worried.

Merlin hauled him to a stop in front of a door in the personal quarter's wing.  It looked like every other door in the hall. He’d never forget it.

Merlin knocked gently.

“If that’s another vampire,” a jaunty voice said through the door, though obviously weak, “come to draw my blood you can fuck right off.”  Percival was relieved it was a man’s voice.

“It’s Merlin,” the Dom announced.

“God, Merlin,” the man within wheezed, a moment later the door was tugged open.

Galahad swooped past them both, holding the sub up when he nearly collapsed on the floor.  The unfamiliar sub slowly dragged his gaze up from the carpet, eyeing Percival as he complained.  “Not another random Dom. They aren’t compatible,” he groused. “No one is.”

“He is,” Merlin said firmly.  “Lancelot, meet our new Percival.”

Lancelot’s eyes finally met his, blue colliding with his brown ones that were so dark most people thought them black.  When their gazes met, Percival released the force of his push and felt… nothing. No walls, no counter-push just an empty vessel to pour is dominance into.  Lancelot really was a zero.

Lancelot groaned and Percival was surprised to hear a matching sound coming from his own lips.  He leashed himself again, the sub whimpering as he cut off his own hormones, though his body shook with the strain of it.

Merlin plucked the folder from under Percival’s arms and handed it to Lancelot.  He forced himself to remain silent as the man looked through it. Finally, he said, “The test is wrong.  No one is this compatible with me… I’m…”

_ What? _ Percival wanted to demand but didn’t, Lancelot seemed lucid enough but not if he started throwing around orders.

“It’s not wrong,” Merlin said gently, firmly.  “We did it six times.”

“God,” Lancelot hissed, “God…”

“Look at me,” Percival said, careful to put no push behind it.

Blue eyes met his again.  “Is it real?”

“You know it is.”  Because the sub must have felt what Percival felt, even with another Dom and sub in the room, the sense of  _ rightness _ between them.

Lancelot nodded.

“Can you consent?” Percival asked.

“I think so,” the sub said, licking his lips.  “I’m not entirely sure.”

At least the man was honest.  “May I taste you?”

“Please.”

Even with the man’s permission he hesitated, he’d done it dozens of times; pressed his tongue to the hormone gland beneath a sub’s earlobe hoping to taste something sweet only to get notes of sweet and sour… partial compatibility.  They said if you found your perfect mate the taste could become addictive. He had fantasised about that, about licking his sub endlessly when the loneliness got to be too much.

“If we are compatible,” Percival said, stalling, “may I have your consent to bring you out of your drop?”

“Yes,” Lancelot hissed, without hesitation.  He was brave and that made Percival’s chest swell with pride for all that the sub didn’t belong to him.

He moved into the darkness of the room, the curtains shuttered against the midday sun.  Lancelot was probably fighting a hell of a headache amongst other things. Taking the man’s weight, Percival could feel how weak he was, how unsteady.

“Hi,” the sub said, giving him a beautiful happy grin.

“Hello, Lancelot.”

“James, please.”

Percival nodded.  “James, then. May I?”

The sub dropped his chin, bared the side of his neck and Percival couldn’t stop the possessive growl from escaping before he leaned in and pressed his tongue to the sweat-soaked skin beneath his earlobe.

Percival expected the burst of sweetness, the sub tasting of caramel and vanilla, but when it didn’t resolve into something sour… he was embarrassed that he sobbed against the man’s neck.

“Are we…?” James asked a note of fear in his voice.

That couldn’t stand.  He would never let his sub sound fearful again.  “Perfect. You are perfect.”


	2. A Stranger's Kiss

James was not perfect, was  _ far from _ perfect and Percival’s words reached down and clawed at a deep well of self loathing within him. He pulled away, turned away and moved as far as the space allowed, around the massive bed like a medieval battlement between them to stand at the windows.  He brushed the curtains aside, head screaming at the influx of light, at the pain. He didn’t hiss, didn’t squirm.

It hurt.

It felt good.

Pain settled over his mind like a balm and severed his tenuous connection to the man they’d brought him like a gift.  Except he wasn’t worthy, could never be worthy.

He heard them muttering.. Per - no! The Dom… he wouldn’t think his name… wouldn’t become  _ attached _ .  They all left him in the end and he’d rather die from the hormonal dissonance, the empathic dissonance than carve himself open for someone and be found wanting… again.

Merlin said something and Percival agreed.  Even from across the room he could feel their powers, like the front edges of two massive thunderstorms colliding.  He and Galahad were the air, the moisture that those storms consumed, the land unmade in their wake.

He didn’t want to be unmade.

He didn’t want to  _ die  _ either.

Subs as low as James were told they were weak, that they’d fall to their knees for anyone but he’d learned a long time ago that he could be a vessel or he could be a sieve.  Even strong Doms like Merlin couldn’t control him, he’d let their commands pass through him like water.

It’s what made him a good Kingsman, he looked harmless but was anything but.

But the Dom they’d brought him, the agent… maybe James could slip the leash of his command but they were so compatible that he didn’t  _ want _ to.  He wanted to  _ obey _ .  He wanted to be  _ good _ .

He wanted to  **surrender** .

The thought hit him harder than any punch, any lash.  He was trembling as the panic, bright and knife sharp welled up in his mind and stabbed into his already aching consciousness.

“Breathe,” the Dom said.  There was no Push, no command… just a reminder.

He sucked in a breath.

“Good boy,” the Dom praised, voice warm and tender from a few feet behind him. Close but not crowding, supportive but not smothering.  “I won’t hurt you.”

All Doms did was hurt. All they did was take.

“I won’t take anything you aren’t willing to give.”

“Good,” James said, feigning casual indifference, “then go away.”

The Dom stiffened and James waited… waited for the command to submit, the beatings to start.  He liked pain but he wanted it to be a thing of love, too often it was a thing of anger. “If I go,” the Dom said carefully, “you’ll die.”

He’d rather die.  “I’d rather die.”

“James,” the Dom huffed softly, disbelieving.

“I was always going to die from this but… I can’t - I don’t know how - “

“Let me in,” he implored softly.  “Give way.”

“Why can’t you just  _ take? _  Can’t you?”

The Dom nodded and James saw the barest reflection of it in the glass, “I could.  But that’s not surrender. That’s rape.”

Of course. Of course he’d have to be a good man.  “I’m afraid.” James admitted, reaching out to press his scarred knuckles against the window pain.  So many scars, trying to ease the ache in him. The man behind him had eased it… no… he’d wiped it away with that Push and then ripped it away… took away to moment’s  _ peace. _

“I am, too.”

Before he could think better of it, James scoffed and immediately regretted it, was sure he’d be in trouble  _ for that _ , at least.  But the other man didn’t react so, James goaded, “Must be really difficult… having all the power.”

_ “You _ have all the power,” the Dom said, utterly earnest.  “It is only mine to carry if you share it.”

James whimpered in need, his body screaming for the Dom’s touch and staying where he was… he was losing the battle.  “Please,” he finally asked, “can you touch me? It’s - It’s hard to think.”

The Dom came to the window, stood next to him and threaded their hands together.  He felt like he could breathe again, heaved desperate lungfuls of oxygen into his body.

“Whatever you need,” he said.  “I am here.”

James clung to the touch, squeezing harshly but Percival - James had decided to use his name - Percival did not complain.  “I’m a shite submissive.”

The Dom’s laugh was abrupt but real.  “It doesn’t matter. For me, you are perfect.”

~~~

James bolted awake with the deep sense that something was wrong.  The room was dark and his thoughts still felt mired in the bog of hormones, making his brain feel fuzzy and unfocused but he also felt… good or better, at least.

Still, his drop lingered - 

His drop.

Percival!

“Percival?” he called out, worried the Dom was upset with him already.  What had he done… what could he do to make it right? Did he want to make it right?

“In here, sweetheart,” Percival called from the bathroom, only then did James realise he could hear the hiss of the water spray.  “You may join me.” 

He rolled out of bed, still wearing his trackies and t-shirt from earlier. 

After Merlin and Harry had left Percival had insisted he lie down, James had acquiesced easily especially after the Dom undressed to his pants and climbed into bed with him, holding him close.

Even past the fatigue and the itching desperation in his veins the Dom’s presence against his skin was a drug, a feast offered to a starving man.  It was all he’d ever wanted, everything he’d never had enough of, touch starved and desperate.

James must have been more tired than he realised because he remembered nothing after he pressed his ear to his Dom’s chest to hear the beating of his heart.

Sucking in a tremulous breath as he leaned in the doorway of the bath, he ignored the sharp ache of his bruised ribs.  James was leaning his hands against the tiled wall of the shower, back arched into the hot spray.

He’d redecorated his suite when he had become Lancelot, most of the expense in the bathroom.  The shower was walk in without any door, rather the spray held in by a half wall of field stone.  About two thirds of the area was open, allowing eight to ten people to stand under the multiple heads comfortably though no one had ever shared it with him.  Tucked in the corner was a deep jetted tub, only big enough for two though that, too, he’d never shared.

Seeing Percival in his space, naked and vulnerable and gorgeous stirred something visceral within him.  “Damn, sir,” he murmured.

Percival chuckled, not looking up as the rain showerhead poured down on his back.  “Like what you see?”

“Very much so.”

“So that answers that question.”

James cocked his head, though Percival couldn’t see it.  “What question?”

“Whether you might be attracted to me.”

He crossed the room, leaning on the wall and dragging his eyes over the Dom’s naked soapy body.  The man was fit, stockier than James himself and his muscles were harder, more well defined than his own.  James whistled his appreciation. “How could anyone not?”

Percival didn’t answer, the question was, after all, rhetorical.  Instead, he said, “I am too. Attracted to you, that is.”

“Thank fuck, sir.”

Another chuckle, deeper and throatier as Percival flipped to lean his back against the wall giving James an unobstructed view of his half hard cock.  It looked delicious.

The Dom shut off the spray, pushing his soaked hair out of his face before blinking open his impossibly dark eyes.

“You’re a ten, aren’t you?” he blurted, happy he hadn’t said something mortifying like ‘please, keep me.’

Percival nodded.

“So, do you and Merlin whip it out and measure whenever you’re near each other?”

The Dom chuckled as he leaned over the half wall to press his lips back to that sensitive spot on James’ neck, dragging his tongue along the skin.  “No, sweetheart, we don’t.”

He shivered at the endearment, desperate for more… more words, more praise, more touch.  Fuck, he was so needy. If he didn’t control it he’d scare Percival away, hadn’t his parents always told him that no one liked a needy sub?  

“So,” James asked, “how do you deal with that?  Is one of you more Dominant or…?”

“Truthfully?” At James’ nod he said, “I don’t know who is more Dominant.  Obviously there are differences even with people categorised at the same strength on the scale but I haven’t tried to overpower him at all.  He’s more senior so I don’t attempt to wrest control from him but still, being in the same room as he is can be uncomfortable. Merlin has been accommodating by having other agents nearby for briefings or doing it in open spaces where I am less likely to feel trapped.  With my rare compatibility I try not to use my Push at all, tends to make me sick.”

James handed the Dom a towel as he stepped out of the shower alcove, pouting when he tied it around his waist, hiding the swell of his beautiful cock.

“How are you feeling?”

“Foggy,” he confessed honestly.  “But not as weak.”

“Good, that’s good,” Percival said, cupping his cheek.  James nuzzled into the touch, licking the drops of water from his palm.  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the shower, “I had just returned from Asia when Merlin ambushed me on the tarmac.”

“You’re welcome to be in my quarters at any time, naked or not,” he said sweetly, eyes fluttered closed in pleasure at the man’s touch.  “May I kiss you, sir?”

Percival tilted Lance’s head up.  “Look at me.”

Lancelot swallowed but obeyed.  Percival’s eyes were so dark, he felt like he could fall into them and… fuck was that corny.

“I would love to kiss you if you are interested in something more than a professional connection.  If, however, you’d just like me to handle your drops and maintenance then I will decline.” He sighed.  “It would be too easy to fall for you, otherwise.”

In answer, James stepped closer, slotting his body up against Percival’s wet body and offered his lips.  “I want everything, sir.”

“James - “

“Please… kiss me.”

Percival closed the distance slowly, as if he expected James to change his mind at any moment.  But, James didn’t change his mind or pull back, groaning as Percival’s lips whispered across his own.

James had few kisses to compare it to.  He never kissed his dynamic counselors and he’d never had a personal Dom.   _ Christ _ , his last kiss had been before he even presented…

Percival didn’t linger, the contact practically chaste despite the Dom’s state of undress and yet, it could not have been more perfect as it flooded his body with a happy warmth.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmured against the Dom’s mouth.

“Good boy,” Percival praised, brushing their noses together.  “Are you hungry?”

James nodded, a little dopey from the wash of hormones he was getting from the Dom.  Percival chuckled as he steered him back into the bedroom, the Dom dragging on cotton y fronts from a suitcase that had appeared while he slept.  “Galahad brought these for me,” he explained.

“Harry.”

“Harry…?”

“He prefers Harry.”

“Oh,” Percival said, nodding.  “Are you two close?”

“No,” James whispered, remembering Lee’s death and Harry’s subsequent heartbreak.  They had been close, he and Lee. And Lee, in turn, had been close with Harry but he and Harry - despite being two of three submissive Kingsman agents - did not get on.  They didn’t fight, nothing so common, but there was always a discomfort between them. It was difficult, knowing Harry would have traded his life for Lee’s in an instant.  James rather liked his life.

“I’m sorry,” Percival murmured, dragging James from his thoughts.  

The Dom had moved within arm’s reach and, with his chest bare and still glistening from the shower James couldn’t help but reach out and splay his palms over the man’s chiseled pecs.  “You’re fit.”

“You can send your regards to her Royal Majesty The Queen’s Special Air Service.”

“Is that where you were before Kingsman?” James asked.

“Yes, I was recruited from there.  And you?”

“MI Six.”

Percival smiled, the gesture warming the otherwise serious looking man’s face.  “So, who has better gadgets?”

“Oh,” James answered without hesitation, “Kingsman, definitely.”

“Come on,” Percival encouraged with a tug to James’ hand before he let go and flopped on the bed.  “I’d like to hold you again.”

In his eagerness, James forgot he was blackened with bruising, tugging his shirt off before freezing at the pained pull on his ribs.  It was too late, Percival hand seen the marks and leapt from the bed. With gentle hands he eased the fabric over James head hissing, “Bloody fuck,” when he got a proper look.  “I know you like to play rough, my darling, but this looks… uncontrolled. Was this from your counselor?”

James shook his head, groaning as Percival trailed gentle fingers across the overlapping marks.  “No one hurts me as much as I need so… sometimes I let the monsters of this world do it just for a bit of relief.”

Percival was lightning quick as he gripped James’ neck, cradling his head but forcing him to look the Dom in the eyes.  “Never again, sweetheart. I will always give you what you need.”

“Promise?” he murmured, hating the needy whine in his throat.

“I promise.”

James nuzzled into Percival’s cool hands, the Dom dropping gentle kisses on his face before wrapping him in his arms.  Returning the affection gratefully, James murmured, “Can I ask, sir, how many subs have you had?””

“Personally or professionally?”

“Either… both,” James muttured blurrily as Percival’s touch soothed him.

“Three personal, none professionally.  Don’t worry though… I’ve done the training, kept up on my skills with dynamic counselors and professionals.  I won’t hurt you.”

Before he could think better of it, James whispered, “I want you to hurt me.”

Percival laughed.  “I won’t hurt you unintentionally.”

He pouted when the Dom pulled away, scooping up the mobile - an invention of Merlin’s - and typing something into the keyboard.

Turning back to James, Percival asked, “How many Doms have you had?”

Shame burned on his cheeks and he closed his eyes against the uncomfortable sensation even as he answered truthfully, “None.”

“Oh, baby,” Percival sighed, wrapping him up in another incredible hug.  James had never been touched so much in his life and he soaked it up like a dried sponge in water.  “That must have been hard.”

“Yes,” he said.  “The counselors were never very compatible.”

“For me, either.” Percival brushed gentle affection over his cheeks before saying, “Please do not be ashamed, sweetheart but I must ask… are you a virgin?”

The Dom could ask him not to feel it all he wanted but that did not stop the sickening twist of humiliation in his stomach.  “Y - Yes, Sir.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised.  “I know it cannot be easy to be honest but you are doing very very well.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

James was grateful it wasn’t a question because he wasn’t sure he could make decision.  Still, he wanted his Dom to know he was wanted. “Please.”

“Good boy,” Percival breathed warmly, the words ghosting against his lips and chased by the Dom’s warm, gentle mouth.

James sighed into the embrace, melting in the man’s arms as they moved together slowly, giving him the impression he was being explored.  The gentle stroke of the Dom’s tongue against his lower lip startled him, the sensation unexpected from the little bit of fumbling experience he had.  He didn’t pull away as Percival continued to stroke his tongue across his mouth. With a sigh, he relaxed and the clever velvety tip snuck inside.

Lancelot moaned into Percival’s gentle exploration, giving himself over as Percival poured that dominance into him.  It felt like warm soup in his belly on a cold winter’s day, like fuzzy blankets and cocoa.

There was a knock on the door.

“Tell them to go away or I will shoot them,” Lance grumbled, nuzzling Percival’s neck.

His Dom laughed, a bright happy sound that had Lancelot grinning.

“Go away,” Percival called out to the door.  “Or my submissive will shoot you.”

Lancelot burst into giggles, clinging to Percival’s neck.

“The food you ordered, ser?” some harangued staff said through the door.

Renewed giggles flittered from them both, Lancelot nuzzling the happy endorphins from Percival’s throat before the Dom pulled away to answer the door.  When the staff had gone, Percival asked, “You think Merlin will get a complaint?”

“Heavens,” Lancelot said brightly, “I hope so.”


End file.
